Boy's Club

Callum has blond hair and a stocky build. When he’s not keeping Louis calm and relaxed, he likes nothing more than stealing straight boy’s right out from under their girlfriend’s noses.

“It’s just a look. It’s all in the eyes. High in a club, they are easy to pick.”

Joel is an Aussie boy with a winning smile. One night on a dance floor he commented to a girl that he fancied her husband. As the sun came up, the husband fucked Joel as his wife held amyl under Joel’s nose.

Louis wears designer clothes that he likes Callum to remove. Louis told his childhood mate that he was catcher, when his straight mate asked kind of awkwardly if he was pitcher or catcher when it came to sex?

Kale plays footy and perves on his team mates in the showers. “Do you know how hot it is when those guys are naked and wet all surreptitiously fiddling with themselves so they don’t look like they’ve got the smallest cock under the water!” Kale has had drunken sex with two of his straight footy buddies. That still didn’t beat the group jack off the team had night away on camp.

Trent is a mummy’s boy who is in love with Joel, who likes Trent because of how he makes Joel feel with his thick wang.

Otto has big feet with who Giuseppe dared Kale to find out if the old saying is true. Really late, or really early, depending which way you look at it, Otto slipped his enormous cock into Kale’s mouth, who dutifully swallowed.

Carmelo has a big dick and wrestles competitively with Trent. They rub hardons as they battle the each other’s shoulders to the mat.

Giuseppe has black hair and brown eyes, a wife and two kids. He has a hairy stomach and chest, which turns Otto on, who loves to run his palm down Giuseppe’s chest to the elastic on his jocks.

“I won’t stop you,” said Giuseppe the last time Otto rubbed his hand down his stomach to his briefs.

The wife and kids were down Phillip Island. Otto didn’t leave until the next morning, with a very big smile on his face.

Not Something You See...

Pissing Woman was in Gertrude Street this morning, wearing a long cream nightie with a brown fur over it, asking anyone who came with in ear-shot and then some who didn't, "Do you smoke? Excuse me, do you smoke?"

Her face was ashen white. He expression, chillingly, blank.

She was standing just by the milk bar and was even calling to people across the road.

I escaped notice as she was harassing someone who was coming the other way, as I passed by with a cigarette in hand, which she didn't see.

Monday

Monday, Monday, my head is thick. I don't know what to do? At least I'm not sick. Surprise.

Make it to my desk, sit up straight, look as though I'm there in spirit too.

Monday, Monday. Monday, Monday, I'm gonna pull through. 5.30 is all I have to do. Demise.

Keep it together enough to finish everything off and just pick up my bag and go.

Rolling Along

I so wanted to go over to Manny's afterwards, but really, it was a slow trip home from Guido's to Fitzroy, as it was, after all the shenanigans.

I have been cursing those new 40 kilometre speed limits, but, you know something, now I'm not so sure? I think they are pretty good when you are really stoned, cruising at 40, nobody can complain. Just rolling along, steady as can be, straight ahead like a Galleon, home safe and sound. 

Back To The Big Smoke

Fresh air. Dirt between ya toes. Not showering. Burnt food. Cold Tea. Boy, I feel great!

Manny has dirty knees and, how do I say this without being completely tasteless, some stretching where the sun shines out from and he feels great for it.

"I so needed that," he said, as he stood up beside the creek and pulled his jeans back up.

Fresh, air, fresh water, fresh attitude. Refreshed.

 

Camping

Going camping, good weekend for it. Don't ya think?

Shitting over a log. Pissing in a stream. Stars at night. Warm by open fire. Billy tea. Red coals against the black night sky. Canvass flapping. Dingos sniffing around for scraps and babies. Hug me honey, keep me warm.

 

Sitting up in bed late at night

Suicide Screen

“Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolf,” playing on a repeat cycle on the television. She was found hanging from a roof beam in front of it, with a fluro arrow pointing from her to the television saying the movie was how she saw the world.

Just couldn't face another weekend.

Don't Understand

An Italian woman who never learnt to speak English decided that at the age of sixty she’d had enough of living in a world she couldn’t communicate with, so she started voicing her anger loudly in Italian, in the street wherever she may be. At the tram stop, at St Vincent’s Plaza, she would tell everyone what she thought of the state of the world.

She had to be taken away, eventually.

Okay God

Now, before any of you God botherers get into me for what I've said over the last week, let me just say, I'll take my chances with the big guy.

If you do exist, Lord, smite me, show your disapproval for the things I have said, if you indeed disapprove.

18th Dec 2008 – still here. I've heard nothing from the big G. Silence. And my life has been good. Sweet. And why would that be so? Other than in books, myths don't have too much sway with the living.

11th April 2011 – still here. Still happy and well.

2026 – The God story is bullshit, let’s face it. 8% of the population really believes, everyone else, well, childhood brainwashing is powerful.

Handsome Catholic priest

God Wanted Me To Be Excited

I used to fiddle with myself under my cassock when I was a choir boy. I'm sure God wanted me to be excited by church.

I imagined, he spoke to me directly. "Make yourself... full of grace for me, and for all the choir boys and priests who have come before you."

He'd appear like a white light over the alter while the sermon droned on. "Love your... fellow man, in my name and my son's name and in the spirits name. Amen."

"Amen," I'd say.

Silly Old Arthur

Arthur Batson, organist Holy Trinity Kew, hated me because the old perve wanted me, perhaps? (I'm desperate for another reason for his cruel behaviour of a 12 year old, but none are forthcoming) I could feel it when he was near me, that angst he used to have. Those eyes. Those mean little eyes.

He had God to see him through, which didn't, actually, stop him from shaking with pent up homo lust for my 12 year old choir boy form.

The miserable old bastard made my life hell, essentially, because... I remember the look in his eyes. I've seen it many times since.

He was a man who had god?

Hot Jewish Boy

I used to have sex with a hot Jewish boy from Balaclava. Ira. Sexy Ira. He was smouldering hot, sexy, handsome. He had a habit of being shirtless, and with those abs why not. How he used to fill those black jeans that he used to wear, had to be seen... those calves, those thighs, that arse, that bulging crotch, that curved, flat waist. He had all the right curves. 

And he was a real boy, big and bounding and beautiful.

Without fail, he used to shake and ask for god's forgiveness every time I made him cum, every time his thick cock creamed itself. White gobs of glue used to pour out of him. Often. Shabitsa! The boy had a nice, thick wand on him, really beautiful with a pretty snipped end. And it used to stay hard, long after he'd made a mess of himself.

I was never sure if he was praying for forgiveness because another man was playing with his piece, or if it was because he was cheating on his girlfriend?

I guess it didn't matter which? 

Divine Scent

I want to sniff the shroud, just to see if I can smell the sweet scent of the man.

What do you think he smelt like? Popcorn and bullshit, I’d guess. Popcorn for the spectacle, and bullshit for the obvious reasons.

And maybe cheese, for the cheap and of low quality nature of the message and its unsubtle or inauthentic way of trying to elicit a certain response from the punters.

 

And God Said

When I play God he says, No greater act can a man perform than to spill seed with his brother. Such acts will lead to eternal glory and the promised land complete with virgin boys playing lutes. 

(okay, the lute players aren't virgins, but none of us want them to be virgins anyway, that's a straight guy thing. We like our lute players to be men… and to know what they are doing. You know, out of the box trained)